The Squeal Heard 'Round Studio City

Thanks a lot, SJG.  Stop by again real soon.  Not.

There's a Spanish-Yiddish term for my behavior at the lovely baby shower I attended on Sunday.  This term comes courtesy of my mother-in-law, who uses it any time she trips or collides with an unexpected object:  "El Klutzadoro."  Although I remember little of what I learned in high school Spanish (other than "Donde esta la biblioteca?") I do believe the feminine usage -- "La Klutzadora" -- is preferable.  But "El Klutzadoro" sounds funnier, so let's stick with that, shall we?  I don't really need your permission.  I'm just being polite.  What exactly did the SJG do yesterday to earn this title?  Oh, it pains me to tell you.  Seconds before the ceremonial opening of the baby gifts, just before the first "aw" was uttered, I tripped over an adorable, recently-rescued canine.  It was the epic squeal heard 'round Studio City and surrounding areas, including Sherman Oaks and North Hollywood.  Who knew such a tiny doggy could give such an astonishingly bold geschrei ?  Everyone in the room, for starters.  God forbid my moment of extreme klutziness should be witnessed by only one or two shocked bystanders.  It had to happen in front of all the nice ladies.  All I wanted was a good seat for the show.  Who doesn't love to watch a pregnant gal gush and weep as she clutches onesies and burpy cloths in ecstasy?  In my rush for better seating, I stepped on the dog's tail or paw or maybe both.   I swear to you, he wasn't there when I began my brief journey across the rug.  He appeared out of nowhere.  And down I went with a big thud.  How quickly the nice ladies in attendance turned on me.  Someone yelled, "Dog squasher!" Someone else screamed, "Who invited her?"  "Sorry, sorry, is he okay?" I said, 42 times.  "He's fine," the hostess promised, as her newly-acquired pet limped away.  "Don't worry.  I step on him all the time."  Still, I felt awful and continued to milk it the rest of the afternoon.  "Is he still alive?" I asked at random intervals. "Is there a veterinarian in the house?" I inquired, ad nauseum.  Of course, everyone else forgot about "the incident" quickly, but it continues to haunt me.  El Klutzadoro strikes again.